


Second Chances

by Mohini



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Healer!Harry, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Abuse, PotionsMaster!Draco, Rape Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-06 12:10:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1106649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mohini/pseuds/Mohini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three years apart dissolve into nothingness as I find safety in his arms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Second Chances

                I can feel the hands holding me, can feel the bruises beginning against my hips. I feel the rasp of the rough denim fabric that is bunched around my ankles as I am rocked back and forth. The tile is digging into my forearms as I pillow my head against them, trying to avoid banging my forehead on the wall. The sharp exhalations as I attempt to breathe are a grotesque imitation of pleasure, and I can taste the bile in the back of my throat as I swallow it down yet again. I can feel his breath hot against the back of my neck as he presses into me again and again. My blood is bitter in my mouth as I bite my lip. I will not cry out. I will not give him the satisfaction of knowing he has gained a reaction from me. When his prick brushes against my prostate, I suppress a moan. It shouldn’t be possible for me to feel any pleasure, and I’m not sure if that is the correct word anyway. All I know is that here I am, in a bathroom at a bar. He found me here, out in the Muggle world where I thought I would be safe. He slams into me once more before he stills. I can feel the warmth spreading inside me, and years of this experience have left me with only one reaction, relief. I feel his withdrawal and struggle not to collapse against the wall. I feel his hands on my shoulders, spinning me around to face him. There is a sharp pain as his hand makes contact with my face. I know there will be a bruise there in the morning. His words are grumbled, low, but ominous. “If you want to act like a little whore, you will be treated as such, Draco,” he tells me. I cannot meet his eyes. I focus on the floor at my feet, tasting the bile once more and swallowing convulsively.

                “Yes, Father,” I whisper. I hear the door of the room opening, and footsteps enter. He strides out of the stall and I sink to my knees, crawling toward the toilet as my stomach wins the battle and I vomit up everything I have had to drink tonight. Tears leak from my eyes and I clutch the toilet seat, my denims still around my ankles, blood and semen leaking from me as I retch.

                I don’t know how much time passes before I hear the hinges of the partition creak open. “Can I call someone for you?” an unfamiliar voice asks. I nod, choking as I bring up still more liquor and bile. I whisper the digits to the only mobile number I know, praying that he will come, that he will forgive me. I hear the unfamiliar voice speaking into his own small mobile, telling the only person I can trust where I am, that I am ill, that I have been hurt. I shouldn’t be surprised when I hear the crack of Apparition a few moments later and the words of a memory charm with a flash of light directed at the Muggle who called him for me.

                Strong arms wrap around me, and I hear the words of the healing spells, feel the relief flood my body as the pain recedes. He lifts me in his arms, vanishing the blood stained denims and replacing them with a whispered spell and a pair of soft trousers transfigured from a handkerchief. “I’m going to take us back to my flat. I can finish healing you there,” he tells me and I nod against him. I feel his arms tightening around me and then the squeezing sensation of Apparition grips me. When we come to a halt, I don’t have time to take in my surroundings before I am violently sick all over both of us. I can taste metal in my mouth and it makes me retch again. I hear his voice, soft and gentle as he carries me into a dimly lit room. He calls behind us for his house-elf to deal with the mess I made on the carpet. I can’t manage to form words to apologize. I can barely breathe, and suddenly the pain in my chest has turned from a dull ache to a sharp burn.

                He lays me down on a bed, Vanishing my clothes once more. He leaves only my pants. I’m grateful for that. I don’t know how I would have reacted to being naked and vulnerable before him. “May I sober you up? This will be easier if you’re a little less disoriented, I think.”

                I nod, knowing my voice cannot be trusted. I feel the alcohol wiped from my bloodstream. Without the numbing effects of the many, many drinks I consumed earlier tonight, the pain throughout my body is intensified. I grit my teeth, but quiet whimpers of pain escape anyway. “It will be better soon,” he tells me, and he Summons something from a cabinet. He places the phial against my lips. “Morpheum,” he says softly. “It’s mixed with a restorative and a nausea draught. Drink it down for me, please.”

                I obey, and the potion spreads quickly. The pain isn’t gone, but it is muted, tolerable, and my mind is clear. “I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I need to know. Any injuries a basic scan isn’t going to catch?”

                “No,” I whisper. “No curses. You’ll find everything.”

                He works his way through the diagnostic charms. The calm voice soothes me, and the familiar sensation of his magic washing over me tones down the raw terror I had felt when I recognized my father’s face as his Glamour dissolved in the bathroom. He casts the spells to heal the major wounds, the broken ribs and the broken bone of my cheek where Father slapped me with the signet ring out. I cry out once more when he heals the many tears from Father’s brutal entry. His hand brushes my hair from my face and he whispers soothing nonsense before casting a cleansing spell on me, washing Father’s semen from my body. When it is over, he covers me in a light sheet and blanket. I expect questions, I expect him to want to know what I was doing in that club tonight. He says nothing. His hand takes mine and he holds it gently, reverently, and all the animosity of the past few years dissolves.

                “I’m sorry,” I tell him softly. My voice breaks and I try not to let the tears come.

                “What happened?”

                I try not to let the tears come as I whisper the only explanation I can manage. That single word, barely audible, is enough to make my stomach clench despite the nausea draught, “Father.”

                “Christ,” he whispers. I look up at him, and the eyes that meet mine are full of pain. I know that he understands more than anyone ever could. Schoolboy confessions of childhood experiences, long, long ago in an eighth year of schooling that came on the tail of a year of utter hell left strong marks in my memory.

                He holds my hand in both of his, one thumb rubbing circles on the back of my hand as he watches me. I know I am shaking, that the shock and panic from the night have finally caught up with me. I spare a thought to be grateful that the only person I know with a mobile is a Healer who will know what to do for me.

                “I need to get you warmed up. You lost a lot of blood and the charms will help but I think you might be best off in the bath. When did you last eat?”

                “Breakfast. Coffee and a pastry,” I dutifully recite. It is an old routine, one that three years apart has not stopped. He always worried about my eating. I had grown accustomed, toward the end of our relationship, to giving a recounting of all I had consumed that day if I looked the slightest bit peaked to him.

                “I’ll have Kreacher bring food after I get you cleaned up,” he murmurs. He releases my hand and I hear him walking across the floor. A creaking door tells me that the room he has brought me to has an en suite. The flat is new, purchased after we parted ways, and I don’t know where anything is. I’m not entirely sure I can stand up on my own, and I don’t protest when he helps me to the bath as though I am a thousand years old. Once in the bath, he hands me a flannel to wash myself, and I begin to scrub at my skin, attempting to remove the memory of the night from my skin. When I am red and raw, he helps me out of the water, wraps a warm towel around me, and takes me back into the bedroom, where a set of warm pyjamas awaits me on the bed. A tray with soup and bread is standing by as well.

                “Eat. I have some more potions you need to take before you sleep,” he tells me. I nod obediently; hoping that among those potions is a sleeping draught, because otherwise there will be no sleep for me tonight. I finish the food and he hands me a series of glittering phials, each containing a different substance to put me back together. When he hands me a blue one filled with a potion that smells of lavender, I look up at him, the question clear in my eyes.

                “Yes, I still brew it. Drink. It will help.”

                I swallow the calming draught that the two of us perfected together during our last year at Hogwarts. It is not sedating, as most of them are, but combines effects of potent calming ingredients with a few carefully placed charms during the brewing process. It essentially wards your fears inside your head for somewhere between 12 and 24 hours. That awful year, it was the only way either of us could survive the nights alone. The next potion is the familiar Dreamless Sleep. I hold it, looking at him for a long while.

                “Stay with me?” I ask, and he watches me for a moment before answering.

                “Is that what you need?” he asks finally.

                “Please. I don’t want to be alone.”

                He nods and goes to the wardrobe. As he strips out of his clothes I realize that his body is largely unchanged. Defined muscles long ago replaced the skinny misfit boy. I find myself wondering if he still starts his days with a long run just after dawn. It was a habit we developed together, running together around the lake back at school and later running the streets of London while he was in the Healer Academy and I was studying for my Potions mastery. He turns after he pulls his shirt over his head, and I focus my gaze on the bed.

                “Do you want me in the bed or a chair?”

                I don’t know how to answer. I want him to hold me and make me feel safe and loved again, like he did before everything fell apart. “Draco?” he asks again, and this time he is sitting beside me and his hand reaches out once more to take mine in the warm, soft grip. I look down at the fingers entwined with mine and it is as if a dam bursts. I cry, tears streaming down my face and every inch of my body trembling. He pulls me bodily into his lap, rubbing my back and whispering in my ear that he has me, that everything will be alright. I want to believe him. When I’ve cried myself out, he hands me the phial of Dreamless Sleep once more. “Drink, please. I’ll hold you. It’s alright. I’ve got you now,” he tells me, and I swallow the potion and welcome the numbing darkness.

                When I wake, the first thing I am aware of is that I am being held. I tense automatically, trying to decide the best way to get away from whomever I have passed out with. Then a familiar voice is speaking to me, and the arms around me deftly turn me to face him. “You had a rough night. Some Muggle called me to come fetch you. We can talk after we get some food in you,” he tells me. Some things never change. A childhood of being starved at the whim of his Muggle relatives left him with a deep desire to ensure that no one around him ever go hungry.

                I follow him to the kitchen of his flat, where he brews coffee for both of us and avoids the glares of his house-elf as Kreacher scurries around him putting fruit and cream in dishes for us. I take my bowl and eat slowly, grateful that among the many potions he gave me the night before was a preemptive Hangover Draught. When we are finished, he leads me to a small sitting room and I curl up in a chair, knees hugged to my chest and arms clasped around my shins. I probably look ridiculous, but it is the only position I can manage without feeling like I am falling apart.

                He stands beside me for a while, one hand resting on my shoulder. I don’t know what to expect. Our last fight still rings in my head, the magic that had swirled in the house the night I left was a thing of horror, and I recall that no one had ever frightened me as much as he did that night. Now, he touches my shoulder with such a soft hand that I wonder if it is even really him. He eventually kneels down before the chair, bringing himself eye level with me. “Would this be easier if I hold you?” he asks, and despite my fears, I nod. A murmured charm transforms the chair into a couch and he sits down with me, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me close. I manage to uncurl a bit, settling into the V of his legs and placing my head against his chest.

                “Last night, I got a call from a Muggle around 2AM. He told me that my boyfriend was sick in the loo at a club, that you were bleeding and he thought you had been assaulted. I didn’t even think about it, just Apparated to the place he told me. I Confunded him and did a low level Obliviate to get him out of the way. Then I saw you. God, Draco, you know what I do, where I work. I’ve never seen anyone look as rough as you and still be conscious. Did you know he broke seven ribs? I don’t even know how you were still breathing. There was blood everywhere. You were kneeling in a fucking pool of it. I healed the worst of the tearing before I brought you here. What the hell did he use on you? He managed to lacerate your colon. You were vomiting blood by then, I’ve no idea how much blood you lost. I gave you blood replenishers before bed, and a couple of times overnight. You didn’t even wake up to take them for me. Fuck, Draco, I thought you were dying on me. You asked me to hold you. I didn’t take my hands off you all night. Just sat there and watched you breathe. You cried in your sleep and I swear I wanted to go and kill him, for hurting you like that. I don’t even know why you remembered my number, but I need to tell you that I won’t let you go back home. You’re not safe there. Not if he will do this to you in the middle of a Muggle club bathroom.”

                I listen to him, and when he is finished, I seek out his hand and hold tightly to it before I speak. “Yours is the only mobile number I’ve ever known. I don’t know why I remembered it, but I did. I was scared. He’s hurt me before, you know that. I’ve been home for more than three years now, and he hasn’t touched me once. I’ve been going to the Muggle clubs for a while. Get pissed, have a one off in the loo, go home and sleep it off. It works. No attachments, no danger, you know? I don’t know how he found me. But he did. I thought he was just another random bloke, and then he dropped the Glamour and knocked the hell out of me. He had his cane and used it before he fucked me. Probably what caused the tears in my colon. I don’t really know. Hurt too much to pay attention, really. I didn’t think I’d get out of it alive. Then there was the Muggle, asking if he could call someone for me and I just hoped you would be willing to take care of me one more time,” I couldn’t keep my voice steady any longer, and he held me while I cried for what seemed an eternity.

                When I finally managed to stop, I had shifted until I was cradled in his lap, fully supported against him and limp from exhaustion. “Draco,” he said quietly. “Stay with me, please? We can try again, just, please don’t go back home. I think he really will kill you this time.”

                I nodded. It was ironic that my father had been the reason we had parted to begin with. When he was released from Azkaban, Mother begged me to return to the Manor. She pleaded with me to give him one last chance, to allow him to make amends. Harry had told me that if I left, he didn’t want to see me again. He knew what had happened to me as a child, he knew that by the time the Dark Lord returned, my father had moved from simple hexes and the occasional curse to full out beatings for any and all infractions. He knew that I had lost my virginity in my own bed, held down against the mattress by the man who sired me. He couldn’t understand why I would ever wish to return to the Manor to live with such a monster. In all honesty, I didn’t understand it either, but I always was prone to trying anything to please my mother. I had moved home, and we had spoken only when our positions at St. Mungo’s required it. 

                “I need to let Mother know where I am,” I say, and even to my own ears my voice sounds hollow. He calls the house-elf to provide quill and parchment and I send off a note, telling her that I have chosen to leave the Manor and that we cannot maintain contact so long as Father resides there. A part of me fears for her, but I know that as much of a monster as he is, the man has never laid a hand upon her in anger. She may look small and fragile, but I’ve seen her duel. She’s terrifying and her family heritage comes through loud and clear in the strength and variety of her Dark Arts training.

                I am tired again after only a few hours awake, and I only half notice when Harry Summons a throw from a small storage bench and drapes it over me. He rubs my back as I drift and eventually descend into sleep with my head resting against his chest. When I wake, I am warm and comfortable, wrapped up in his arms still on the couch. It’s been a long time since I slept without nightmares and it is almost foreign to feel actually rested. I sit up and stretch, and the motion wakes him immediately. The quick reflexes that kept him alive as a teen have not gone dormant, and he reaches out for me, his eyes questioning.

                “I’m alright,” I tell him quietly. He nods, retrieving his wand and casting a cleansing charm at his mouth. I smile, remembering teaching him that charm when we were barely more than children.

                “I’ve got to go in to work this evening. I’m on night rotation in A&E this month. When are you due back?” He stretches as he sits up more fully and I can see that he is looking me over as though checking for latent injuries.

                “I’m due at noon. I’m training a new group of interns down in experimental potions. Don’t be surprised if you see me in A&E in the near future. One of them is nearly as bad as Longbottom!” I shudder, thinking of the young trainee. I’m sure she must be competent or she wouldn’t be in the program. Unfortunately, she doesn’t seem to realize that and has exploded three cauldrons in as many weeks.

                “I think I’ve heard about her,” he muses. He stands up and arches his back, grimacing at the stiffness from spending a night on the sofa as my pillow. “Ugh, I’m getting too old for this. I’m going to go get a shower. Come with?”

                I feel as though this should be awkward, but somehow it isn’t. Climbing into the shower beside him, it seems perfectly normal to wash off side by side. I note that the shower is enormous, clearly enlarged by way of an extension charm because the bathroom is far too small to actually accommodate a shower with four different sprays arranged at either end. He takes me by the hand and pulls me closer, washing my hair for me and gently washing my skin. With anyone else, I would be frightened. The assault is still fresh in my mind, and even though I trust Harry completely, I tense a bit as he runs his hands over my arse.

                “It’s alright,” he says, his voice calm and soothing. “I’m just washing you, nothing more. You’re alright.”

                I feel myself beginning to shake, and he drops the flannel and holds me with both arms wrapped around my shoulders. He doesn’t speak, just holds me and lets me break down in his arms. I cry there, under the warm water from the shower for what seems an eternity. When I finally stop, he turns off the taps and steps out of the shower, Summoning a fluffy towel that he wraps around me. He goes to the sink and wets a flannel with cool water, wiping it gently over my swollen eyes. He leads me into the bedroom, Transfiguring a set of clothes to fit me with a silent spell. I dress mechanically, and while I do so, he slips into his clothes.

                The trim grey slacks and pressed shirt are a far cry from the disheveled boy I knew in school. He tightens a tie around his neck and fastens a leather belt around his slender waist.  “Would you like a calming draught?”

                I nod my response to the question, and he returns shortly with a small phial. I swallow the liquid, grateful once more for the hours we spent as schoolboys perfecting this little gem of a brew. The lingering nervousness fades, and he sits beside me as I take a deep breath. I lean against him, and he wraps an arm around my waist to hold me close. “It might be best to keep you on a scheduled dose for a bit,” he suggests and I agree. I absolutely cannot risk a nervous breakdown at work.

                We make our way to the kitchen, where Kreacher has prepared brunch. I eat some sweet rolls and down a couple mugs of hot tea along with the line of little phials I find beside my plate. Blood replensishers, healing draughts, a restorative, an appetite stimulant, and a nausea draught to ensure it all stays down are all laid out with care. When I finish choking down the potions, Harry spoons some eggs onto my plate and though I am tempted to glare at him, I take the gesture of concern for what it is and eat what he has given me.

                After the meal, we sit in silence in the small lounge for a while before I need to head to work. Even with the nausea draught, the blood replenishers make my stomach churn, and I relax against his chest as Harry rubs soothing circles on my abdomen, easing the cramping and keeping me distracted. Harry ushers me to his Floo shortly before noon, suggesting that I take the direct connection to my office. I look at him for a moment, raising one eyebrow in question. “You never rekeyed the wards. So when I moved, I set the connection up from here. I never stopped worrying about you, you know. Always hoped you would find your way back. Not quite like this, mind, but I’m glad you’re here nonetheless.”

                I shake my head. Only Harry would be such a dreamer. Yet, I still knew his mobile number, when I had no reason to remember it at all. I’m not a believer in fate, but there is something to be said for a little bit of decent luck. “I’m due at six. Don’t know how available I’ll be once I’m there, but if you need anything before that, send a message via Floo.”

                “I can manage on my own,” I tell him, but I am grateful for the concern.

                “I know. But you don’t have to.”

                “Not even two days back and you’re insufferable,” I tell him, kissing his lips and tangling my fingers in his unruly hair. He smiles at me and I am struck by how much I’ve missed this. Another quick kiss and I step through the Floo and into my office at St. Mungo’s. I pull work robes from the stash I keep there and walk out into the main potions area. I ask my assistant to make me an appointment with Twilfit and Tattings. If I’m staying with Harry, I will need my own clothes. No way am I trying to get anything from the Manor. Knowing my father, he will have cursed the lot of it.

                It is a comfort to know that I still have my own account at Gringotts, set up by Harry after the war while the Malfoy vaults were still sealed. I still have access to the family monies, since Father is unlikely to make a public spectacle by actually disowning me, but my private account will more than cover my necessities. If I know Harry, he will object to my spending much of anything on myself. He has enough money that work is utterly unnecessary. He is a healer because he couldn’t stand the idea of sitting about and spending too much time with his own thoughts. I completed my Potions Mastery and came to be employed here for much the same reason.

                So much has changed since we stumbled our way through those early days of young adulthood. I find myself wondering just how this is going to work, now that we are both used to being alone and taking care of ourselves. A stubborn little part of my mind reminds me, however, that in the three years since our parting, I have never spent more than a night with another partner and that nearly all of them had dark hair and green eyes. If I admit it to myself, I’ve been gradually winding my way back to him for a very long time. I can only hope that now that we are a bit more grown up, we can find a proper balance between my need to be cared for, his need to provide that care, and some semblance of a healthy autonomy for us each.


End file.
